Speaking in Platitudes
by M. A. Raven
Summary: Sequel to Cliché. "Well...I'd agree with you, if it weren't for the fact that I'm pretty sure you don't keep any condoms in between the cushions of your couch. Am I wrong?" Finn/Rachel pairing.


Author's Note: Sequel to "Cliché", written in response to peer pressure (they say that ends w/ your HS graduation. I say: Bullshit!). Thanks again to Ali, who beta'd and proved to be an awesome cheerleader, too. Spoilers through the Pilot and promos aired pre-9/9/09.

* * *

Finn woke to the sound of muttering, and groggily sat up to see what was going on. The first thing he registered was that the previous night had not been a fever dream resulting from more liquor than he'd downed in one go since graduating college, as evidenced by Rachel's presence in his bedroom. The second thing he registered was the frustrated way she was digging through her purse, muttering under her breath as whatever-it-was continued to elude her. The third thing was that his shirt had never, ever looked so good.

When it became obvious that his initial protests to waking hadn't gotten her attention, he cleared his throat. "Rachel?"

"Yup?" She didn't bother to turn around, just kept rummaging through the oversized handbag where it rested on his bureau.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning. On a _Sunday_. Since I have it on good authority that you're not against sleeping in on principle, what are you doing out of bed?"

She sighed, shrugged her shoulders, and walked back to the bed. "I was just, well, I suppose it can wait a little bit longer."

"Good. Because I still have some questions, and I have a feeling they'll be a lot easier if we don't have to look each other in the eye."

She swallowed the instinctive protest that rose in response to revisiting the topics of the night before, necessary as it might be, and instead focused on taking her time while she sat down and scooted over to rest her head on his chest. When it became apparent that she wasn't going to start things, even if she did appear willing to talk, he took a deep breath and blurted out something that had _not_ been what he'd planned on saying. "Why didn't you come back?"

When she froze, body rigid and breath trapped, he worried that he'd ended the conversation before it had a chance to get underway. But it had been ten years on his end of things, too, and he'd forgotten that Rachel was never one to back down from something once she'd started. Her answer, when it came, was soft but very tangibly _there_. "Which time?"

He was still trying to figure out how to respond when she proved the question rhetorical. "Do you mean after the accident? I thought about it, you know. When they told me that it was going to be a year before my knee was working properly again, that was one thing, but when they told me that they'd shoved a tube down my throat which may or may not have done permanent damage, I almost did. My dads certainly wanted me to. And they meant well, but they didn't understand what it would have been like. _Everyone_ knew who I was, that I'd made it into a touring company. I didn't need them feeling sorry for me. I'd have been stuck, and I don't think I could have lived like that."

"So instead you decided to just cut and run? We were your friends, Rach. We cared about you. And you just _left_."

"What would you have done, Finn? It already hurt, being friends when we'd been so much more, and that was before the accident. After, even thinking about Glee Club hurt, because I knew I'd never get that back and I didn't want to be the girl who peaked in high school and spent the rest of her life never really growing up. I had to dig out on my own, do you understand?"

He realized belatedly that she was waiting for a response, this time, and let out a harsh breath. "I understand." He laughed, the sound more bitter than sweet. "Wish I didn't, but I know exactly what you mean. It took years before I was willing to talk to Puck after things blew up, not because I didn't give a damn but because I _did_. I just, God, Rachel." He ran his hand along the curve of her back, taking a moment to brush his thumb against the skin at the base of her spine where the shirt had ridden up. "I honestly thought I'd never see you again."

She shrugged, the motion uncharacteristically jerky. "I know. I didn't want to hurt you, believe me. But by the time I finished school, it was just easier to stay away, because then I didn't have to explain anything. No one at the hospital knew about Glee, or the accident, or the fact that I'd _made it_ - landed a stage role with a major paid production, even if it was a touring company - and I could pretend that I didn't miss it. Told _myself_ I didn't miss it. Then Dad started on his stupid campaign to get me to come back for reunion, and here I am."

It was too neat and tidy, far too neat and tidy, to be the whole truth. Finn wasn't the greatest at reading people, a fact which had gotten him into trouble more than once, but he knew how to read Rachel. She'd changed, but not that much. Despite all her talk of liquid courage, the screwdrivers she'd thrown back had closed just as many doors as they'd opened before any hope of rational discussion had fallen by the wayside in favor of more interesting uses for his couch (and, later, his bed).

Topics like his ex-wife, which was odd even if he was just as happy to pretend she didn't exist most of the time. Gina, or rather their divorce, had been the reason behind his own return to Lima. Rachel knew about her, that much was clear, but even when she'd been slurring her words she'd been careful to steer conversation to her own failure of a love-life, even if she did seem to be doing better than he was in that department. She wasn't lonely, exactly, but he got the impression that she was missing _something_, just like he was. Of course, it was possible that particular contribution hadn't come from the rational part of his brain. He hadn't exactly been sober by the time they'd fallen into bed, either.

He felt her shift against him, and realized that he'd been silent a bit longer than intended. "Here you are. Remind me to thank him when I take you home."

She giggled, burying her face against his chest in a way that made him want to do far more than just hold her tight. After a brief flicker of conscience that said they should probably see if there was anything else brewing in their respective backgrounds before even _considering_ anything like the relationship that four rounds of love-making might possibly imply given their shared romantic history, Finn grasped her waist and reversed their positions, kissing her before she had a chance to do much more than squeak.

Several hours later, following both a demonstration of the fact that he'd learned _something_ from his mother when it came to kitchens and that his on-demand water heater worked just as well as a traditional holding-tank model, Finn found himself leaning in the doorway to his kitchen watching Rachel exercise her hard-fought right to do the dishes (by hand, because he hadn't gotten around to getting a dishwasher yet, even though he'd been living there almost a year). He had to admit, there were less interesting ways to spend an afternoon. As he watched her fussing about in the water, he was reminded of her early-morning attempts to unload the gross national product of Sri Lanka from her purse, and his idle curiosity got the better of him.

"So..." She jumped at the sudden sound, and he took a quick sip of coffee to hide the smile that her reaction brought about, averting his eyes when she shot him an annoyed glare that implied she knew _exactly_ how much he'd enjoyed that. He waited until she turned back to the dishwater before continuing his thought. "What exactly were you looking for, earlier?"

"You mean before you dragged me back to bed in a poorly disguised attempt to convince me that you were interested in more than just one last night for old time's sake?"

"Um, sure. Let's go with that."

She shrugged, but he could see her amusement in the way her shoulders rounded as she picked up a bowl. "I always keep an old package of birth control pills in my purse. You know, for emergencies."

He blinked, and braced his free hand underneath his coffee cup, because that was _not_ what he'd expected her to say. "I'm just a guy, so don't take this the wrong way, but don't you have to be on the pill _before_ you have sex for it to work?"

She nodded, turning on the faucet to rinse the next dish. "Well, of course. But in a pinch you can take a bunch of them and it works like Plan B. I mean, it's not my first choice, but I've got the pills sitting around _anyway_, so why not, right?"

"Isn't that kind of redundant? We used condoms, after all. That's what they're _there_ for."

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, pausing to blow her bangs out of her eyes. "Well...I'd agree with you, if it weren't for the fact that I'm pretty sure you don't keep any condoms in between the cushions of your couch. Am I wrong?"

"I, oh."

"Yeah. Exactly." She turned back to her self-appointed task.

He watched silently for a long moment, digesting her words and debating whether or not to voice his thoughts. But this was Rachel, and not bringing out doubts was how he'd ended up having to ask Quinn of all people what was going on in Rachel's life (not that it had gotten him very far). "Would that really be so bad?"

Later, much later, and for many years after that, they'd laugh about how he'd waited until she had his grandmother's heirloom serving dish midway to the drying rack when he'd finally opened his mouth. At the time, however, they both watched in a sort of horrified trance as it fell from her hand, landing on the counter and teetering for a moment before falling to the hardwood floor below. The sound of shattering ceramic was deafening in the abruptly silent room.

Rachel took a shaky breath, and then another, eyes wide as she stared at him. "Finn, that's not funny."

"I'm not laughing, Rachel. We're not getting any younger, and as much as you probably don't want me to say it, I still love you. Hell, I might love you now more than I did when we agreed that being friends meant more than being anything else. And don't try to tell me that I'm in love with a memory, either, because you're _standing right here_." He'd gone too far, crossed too many lines with his outburst, but now that it was said he not only couldn't but wouldn't take it back.

He'd been the one to bring up the chains of high school, back when they'd been the who's who of McKinley. They'd all watched Mr. Shue's personal life and its various implosions as they'd struggled to claw their way onto the national competitive stage, and everyone knew that he'd married his high school sweetheart. Finn had been the one to broach the topic, planting the seed and then never having the courage to dig it back up and douse it with Roundup. When Rachel sat him down and explained how she'd been thinking, and how much a part of her life he was - how break-ups were messy and nasty and she couldn't bear to lose him that way - he could have said "no". But there was a part of him that thought she was right, because while being a part of something special made you special, Rachel was _really_ special. There was going to come a time when he wasn't what she needed, and some of her affection was better than the bitter tears of a breakup.

It had seemed like a sound philosophy at the time, but then, Twitter had seemed like a reliable news source, too. Realizing that Rachel was still standing next to the sink, gripping the countertop so hard her knuckles were white, Finn closed the distance between them and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She shook her head, breaking out of her trance and meeting his gaze with eyes that looked just a little too bright. "You're not supposed to say things like that."

"Even if they're true?" He ran a thumb carefully across the line of her jaw, a barely-there caress. "Look, Rach, I'm not trying to pressure you, here. Or, well, maybe I am. I don't know. But if I don't say this today, then there's every chance that you're going to go back to Chicago tomorrow or the day after, and I'll never hear from you again. And being with you is like singing - it feels right like nothing else ever has. I'm not going to lose that if I can help it."

In answer, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she did so and bringing her arms to rest loosely around his waist. For the first time since he'd seen her walk into the WMHS gym the night before, maybe even since the day her MySpace and Facebook pages vanished, Finn Hudson felt like he could breathe.

~ Finis ~


End file.
